


Significant Figures

by briaranise



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cafe AU, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Science Pick-Up Lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briaranise/pseuds/briaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur begins to frequent a cafe and a strange barista leaves him cryptic messages. </p>
<p>Written for USUK Secret Santa 2014, for my recipient Fragmentedrecords!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Significant Figures

**Author's Note:**

> A very late Merry Christmas to my recipient, Fragmentedrecords. Sorry it took me so long to get this done! I hope you enjoy :)

_Did you swallow a magnet?_

Arthur Kirkland frowned as he tried to make sense of the messy scrawl beneath the completely bastardised spelling of his name. He held the cardboard cup with both hands as he mouthed the words to himself once, twice—and then looked up and regarded the utterly insane barista.

The other man— _Alfred_ , the brightly coloured nametag revealed—simply beamed at him. When Arthur continued to frown at him, confused, Alfred seemed to deflate slightly.

“Have a nice day,” he offered sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head and ruffling the blond locks. He was handsome, Arthur supposed, in a very boyish and American sort of way. “Hope you like your tea and scones.”

Arthur nodded, sipped his tea, and promptly grimaced but managed to swallow the mouthful. “This is awful,” he managed to say. “Are you sure this is tea?”

“I’m the coffee guy. And this is, yanno, a coffee house.”

“I ordered tea. In a café.”

Alfred gestured wordlessly to the messy wooden tray full of tea bags. “The best I could do. Unless you wanna come back here and show me how it’s done?”

Arthur gave the other man another strange look, snatched up his purchases and took a step backwards. “No, I really ought to be getting to work—“

He rushed out of the café, just missing the way that Alfred leant across the benchtop and called out, “Because you’re _attractive_ , get it?

\---

Arthur would have liked to never visit that café ever again. It was noisy and colourful, and that barista was maddeningly idiotic. The tea was nothing short of atrocious and that barista couldn’t even spell his name correctly. How difficult could it be to spell ‘ _Arthur_ _’_? Though to be fair, Americans said the strangest things, and their spelling left much to be desired too. 

Yet only a few days later, he found himself pushing open the café’s door with a thick manila folder tucked underneath his arm. The café’s atmosphere was as rowdy as he remembered and the barista… was exactly how he remembered: loud and overly-enthusiastic, and _definitely_ not at all good-looking.

“Hey!” Alfred waved at him cheerfully then gestured him over. “Guess what I found for you?”

Without waiting for a reply, Alfred set a large tin on the benchtop. Arthur peered at it suspiciously and reluctantly set aside his folder when the other man insisted that he open it. It was filled with fragrant tea leaves. He paused, his breath catching in his throat.

“Do you like it?” Alfred asked, sounding painfully earnest. “Or do you hate it? Aw crap, I got the wrong ones, didn’t I? There were so many though, and I had no idea which one to get—”

Arthur took a moment to clear his throat. “No, no,” he reassured the American hoarsely. “It’s just that… its scent is very similar to the one I would brew every time it rained back home in London.”

Alfred quietly covered the tin with the lid and put it away. “Sorry.” Though his tone was awkward, his face resembled that of a kicked puppy. “I didn’t mean to, you know, stir up any memories or anything.”

“Not at all,” Arthur rushed to say, surprised that he honestly didn’t mind. “They weren’t bad memories. And if you’ve learnt to brew tea properly, I wouldn’t mind having a cup.”

“I dunno how to brew ‘properly’, but you’re still welcome to come around here and show me.”

Arthur glanced around self-consciously. Though the café wasn’t packed full, it certainly wasn’t empty. There were several people in line behind him whose expressions were becoming increasingly impatient. “T-that’s quite all right,” he replied, faltering at the disappointed look on Alfred’s face. “I’ll hazard a cup today. If it’s not up to standard, I’ll consider teaching you another time.”

Alfred seemed to perk up at that. “I’ll hold you to it, buddy!”

Arthur quickly paid for his tea and a scone from the display case, steadfastly refusing to meet Alfred's eyes. There was absolutely no reason for his cheeks to feel so hot. None at all. And there was absolutely no reason for him to shyly glance back towards the other man as he went to find a table. Of course not.

He opened his manila folder and spread his case files across the tabletop, determined to concentrate. He had a case to get through. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Law was unforgiving to those who refused to put in maximum effort.

“What’cha doing?”

He looked up, eyes slightly unfocussed from squinting at the tiny print, to see Alfred standing over him. The American cheerfully slid a plate of scones with cream and jam onto the table, followed by a teacup and saucer.

“Reading over some files.” He gestured at the pile of papers. “I have to be in court in a few weeks.”

Alfred’s face fell. “You’re in trouble?”

“I’m a lawyer, you dolt.”

“So you’re a lawyer,” Alfred mused, seemingly unaffected by the insult. “Well, enjoy, Arthur the British lawyer!”

He placed a pile of napkins on top of Arthur’s paperwork and rushed away, seeming far too gleeful for someone who had to deal with the general population on a daily basis.

A spot of dark ink caught Arthur’s eye and he gingerly lifted the first napkin from the pile.

_You_ _’_ _re like a comet_

He frowned. It was just like last time. Nonsensical words in that horrible scrawl that made absolutely no sense.

Arthur sighed and picked up his tea cup. He sipped, closing his eyes as he savoured the drink. It wasn’t completely horrible, though Alfred had a lot to learn. Maybe he _should_ show the other man how it was done—just to benefit future patrons of the café, of course.

When he opened his eyes, more dark ink caught his eye. There were words scrawled onto the napkin that had been hidden by the tea cup. Arthur frowned and peered down at it, slowly deciphering the rushed handwriting.

_Ones like you only come around once in a lifetime._

Arthur read it again just to be sure, his cheeks red. And suddenly he was furious—how dare that incompetent barista make fun of him? How dare he.

He could see Alfred from the corner of his eye. The American was grinning and trying to get his attention, but Arthur pointedly turned back to his papers. He couldn’t believe Alfred’s audacity.

To joke about something like that was just too cruel.

\---

Despite what had happened last time, Arthur found himself returning to the café just over a week later. Though the tea and service were barely passable, he found that the scones were utterly perfect.

He continued to visit every week or so. Alfred wasn’t always there, but when he was he always greeted Arthur with a bright smile and a cup of over-seeped tea. Arthur still complained, but he found he didn’t mind it half as much as he thought he would.

And when Alfred was working, Arthur never left the shop without another ridiculously cheesy message.

It was painful, though. There was no reason for anyone to be interested in him, and he knew that. He didn’t exactly exude friendliness and he'd taken great care to build up his walls brick by brick lest anyone get the better of him. Alfred was clearly making fun of him.

But he couldn’t help going back again every time.

\--- 

God, he was craving scones. He was stressed beyond belief with the amount of preparation needing to be undertaken before going to court, and his younger brother had stupidly decided to select the hardest possible topic for his primary school science presentation—and of course expected Arthur to help.

Why a twelve year old had to explain the physics behind a rollercoaster, Arthur would never understand.

Still, he would never back down from a challenge. He’d visited the library and checked out several physics textbooks, determined to teach Peter all that he needed to know to get a top grade. Now though, as he paid the unfamiliar barista and found himself a table, he was beginning to rethink his eagerness.

But he'd offered because he’d wanted to be the big brother he’d never had.

Arthur spread the books across the table and began to take notes, but it was difficult. He had only ever achieved a very rudimentary understanding of physics, and after finishing school he’d never touched another science textbook except in the direst of situations.

“Oh, what’cha doing, Artie?”

Arthur flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder suddenly. He turned, scowl in place, to see Alfred standing behind him cheerfully with a tray full of dirty mugs. “Reading,” he replied, half-heartedly attempting to hide how pleased he felt seeing the other man, “and it’s _Arthur_ , not Artie.”

“I didn’t realise that lawyers had to know about inertia and centrifugal forces.” Alfred leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the pages. “You’ve got this bit wrong though. And this bit, too. Does your case involve rollercoasters?”

“ _No_.” Arthur frowned. He wasn’t _wrong_. Even though it was a bit out of his comfort zone, Arthur was sure that he could work through these concepts with no problem at all. He was never _wrong_.  “It is not for my case, and I did _not_ ask for your opinion.”

“I’m just saying, at this point the amount of potential and kinetic energy aren’t the same. And with this bit, you’ve gotta take the centrifugal force requirement into account. If you want, I could help—”

Alfred’s large hand was still applying steady pressure on Arthur’s shoulder, and the American’s thigh was pressed against Arthur’s back. The taller man was leaning over him, his warm breath ghosting over Arthur’s ear. He was so close.

Arthur couldn’t stand it.

“I don’t think a mere _barista_ would be of much help in this case,” he interrupted, “and even if you _were_ , I never asked for your help. Kindly _back off_.” The whole shop seemed to go silent. Alfred took a step back, his eyes wide and hurt.

"Whoa," Alfred said holding up his hands placatingly. "I didn't mean anything by it, I just thought you could use some help--"

"I never asked for your help," Arthur repeated loudly. There was only one thing he wanted right now, and that was to get Alfred away from him so that his chest would stop feeling so tight. "God, you're a barista who can't even make tea. How could you possibly help me?"

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alfred demanded, frowning at the sudden attack. “Are you assuming that because I’m working here, I’m stupid? Is that what you’re saying?”

Arthur’s face began to flush as he felt the gazes of every person in the store focus on him. He'd never imagined what Alfred would look like when angry, and now that he was experiencing it first hand he wanted nothing more than to have bright and bubbly Alfred back. “T-that’s not what I—”

“I guess the fact that I’ve completed post-graduate studies _and_ got accepted by NASA upon graduation doesn’t mean anything at all to you, does it, Mr Hot-Shot Lawyer?” Alfred’s gaze was cold, his eyes narrowed as he spoke. “And neither does the fact that I’ve published one paper as first author, and several as second author, right? Because I’m working here as a _barista_ , so I _must_ be dumb.”

“That’s not what I said!” Arthur said finally, his face burning with embarrassment. He stood, trying to appear as tall as possible though still falling short of Alfred’s height.  There was something about Alfred's words that made them seem long pent-up, as if he was talking to more than just Arthur. There was a long-hidden hurt in Alfred's tone and Arthur knew that he had touched upon a sore point, and he'd done it without good reason.

He was so stupid. He was pushing someone away again.

“Isn’t it?” Alfred laughed bitterly, and the sound was unlike anything Arthur would have ever expected from the sunny American. “What else did you say then? Oh yeah. _Kindly back off_. God, Arthur. You might think I’m dumb, but I _know_ you are. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you flirting back. You’re so stupid, you lie to yourself.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, to protest—but nothing came out. He gaped at the other man. Flirting _back?_

“I feel really sorry for you, yanno. You make yourself unhappy. You don't even try to understand your own feelings.” Alfred shook his head and disappeared behind the counter, not even sparing Arthur a single glance.

\---

It took Arthur almost three weeks before he could bring himself to face Alfred again. In the meantime he’d been having awful bagged tea from the coffee stand outside the courthouse each morning, and he found himself missing Alfred’s stupid phrases. He even missed Alfred’s stupidly handsome face and the way the American would daydream as he worked the coffee machines, his stupid glasses fogging up as the milk steamed.

But he knew that he was the most stupid thing of all.

Hesitantly, he pushed open the café door and winced as Alfred caught sight of him and looked away. Fortunately, the American was stuck serving customers at the till so Arthur too a deep breath, lined up and waited for his turn to speak to Alfred.

“Here,” he said, shoving a small, wrapped package at the other man. He stared at the bench top, unable to look Alfred in the face. While the scones here were to die for, Arthur knew that his scones weren’t far behind in quality, texture and flavour. “I, um. I made these. For you.”

“That’s nice,” Alfred replied. Arthur winced, imagining Alfred nudging the scones away in disgust. But when he heard the crinkling of wrapping paper he glanced up and was surprised to see Alfred biting into one of the scones. “It’s a bit harder than what I’ve had before,” Alfred mumbled between chews, “but it’s good. Thanks, Arthur.”

Arthur flushed. “They’re… an apology. Or I mean, I’m here. To apologise. I shouldn’t have said that to you, and I shouldn’t have assumed anything. And you were right, I had been hoping but hope is not the same as reality and I didn’t want to seem like I was accepting your advances, though I seem to have anyway. Even though I wanted to. But regardless—”

“Regardless?” Alfred repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I know it may be difficult to forgive me, but I honestly feel that—”

Alfred cut him off with the wave of a hand and leaned forward. “You have freckles,” he said, sounding delighted.

Arthur turned away, scowling in embarrassment. “I’ve always had freckles,” he muttered.

“But they’re, yanno… seeable. They’re dark.”

“I had to accompany Peter on a school excursion yesterday. Naturally, he forgot his hat, so…” Arthur cleared his throat, feeling strangely uncomfortable. “Anyway, yes. As I was saying—”

“You look good with freckles.”

Arthur felt his face turn red. “I do not. I hate them.”

Alfred shrugged easily, then smiled. “Apology accepted, Artie. Actually, I wanted to say sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gotten all defensive like that. But you know, back in school and in college, everyone wanted me to be a dumb jock. Like, just ‘cause I liked football, I was supposed to be dumb. I liked football but I liked science too. I wasn’t dumb, but everyone treated me like it.”

“I…” Arthur trailed off, unsure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I shouldn’t’ve said something like that regardless. It was unkind to everyone, and I don’t even know the other staff members.

“Damn straight. Now go sit down and this _barista_ will try to not mess up your tea again.”

Arthur wordlessly stepped back and obeyed, not realising that he hadn’t paid for anything until Alfred was placing the teacup and saucer gently on the table.

“I wanna know about you,” Alfred announced, sliding a chair over. He glanced back at the counter and grinned when he received a thumbs up from his workmates. “All I know is you’re Arthur the British lawyer. You have a brother who you care for very much. You like tea. And you have freckles, but you hate how they look.”

“I’m not sure there’s much else to me,” Arthur admitted self-consciously.

“Sure there is. Here, I’ll go first. I usually work at NASA. I research the possibilities of wormholes and time travel. Well, I did, but we kinda ran out of funding and then my brother got sick so I said I’d work here for him in the meantime so he won’t lose his job.” Alfred’s body language was open and honest as he spoke, but Arthur felt a twinge of doubt. “Your turn.”

“I lived here by myself until they sent Peter to live with me. I’m the most stable of all of us, I suppose. Which isn’t really saying much.” Arthur reached for the teacup but then pulled back to rub at his face wearily. “I’m quite a boring person, Alfred. Not nearly as exciting as an astronaut.”

“If only you knew,” Alfred murmured, but quickly backtracked. “I'm an astrophysicist. Would've been an astronaut, but my eyesight's not good enough. I would've passed the rest of the selection criteria though. Anyway, have you tried your tea? I learnt how to brew properly, at least I think I did, but you’ll have to tell me how I went.” He fidgeted for a moment then glanced back towards the counter. “Oh, there’s a line growing up there so I should get going.”

With one last grin Alfred rushed back to the counter, eager to help his workmates out. Arthur gazed after him for a long moment before picking up the teacup and taking a sip.

Although the tea still tasted overseeped, there was  a definite difference in flavour and texture. Arthur took a few sips before finally opening his eyes.

Sure enough, there was a smudge of dark ink on the napkin.

_A face without freckles is like a night sky without stars._

He looked over at Alfred, his cheeks pink. The American beamed and leant across the counter excitedly.

"Wanna hear another one, Artie?" He called out, and his smile was so infectious that Arthur nodded without even thinking about it. Alfred took a deep breath and winked at him. "Can I have your significant figures?"

Arthur couldn't help it. He laughed loudly, pleased and pink, before fishing his pen out of his breast pocket and reaching for the nearest clean napkin.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:
> 
> Arthur Kirkland does not believe that the airy-looking barista who always gets his tea wrong is actually an astrophysicist at NASA. Space geek Alfred, please! Would be much appreciated if the whole cutting of funding to NASA fiasco was used to explain why Alfred’s working part-time at a cafe (in addition to wanting to see Arthur everyday, of course!).


End file.
